30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 145

The duke—no, Blake—had lived over fifty years without anyone ever speaking to him so bluntly, let alone delivering such “audacity” to his face.

And for good reason. Blake was the legitimate son of the late king, hailed as the greatest conquering monarch since the founding King of Pendragon, the Knight King. He was often called the Warlord King, the embodiment of martial excellence, and a master of statecraft.

Blessed as if by a dragon’s favor, his countless talents surpassed those of any tutor who attempted to teach him. It was said that no teacher lasted more than two weeks before Blake’s intellect outstripped their own.

Even when his succession rights were stripped following his acceptance of the Cursed Sword, the Warlord King himself had reportedly shown rare signs of despair. That alone was a testament to how remarkable a ruler Blake could have been.

Yet, even though he never ascended to the throne, Blake’s achievements as the "Lord of Galahad" were nothing short of extraordinary.

He demonstrated what it meant to be perfect, growing the Galahad family’s power and wealth by over thirtyfold.

Politics? Mastered.

Swordsmanship? Unmatched.

Commerce? Dominated.

Blake excelled in every field, and his name became synonymous with the Galahad family. No one in the kingdom, not even the current monarch, dared to belittle him.

His presence was overwhelming, his abilities exceptional, and no one could look him in the eye without feeling dwarfed.

...And yet.

“Surely, you haven’t lost your mind like some senile royal. Why are you acting like this?”

“..........”

Blake found himself stunned.

The knight he had personally invited to his domain was now delivering this to his face. Yet, rather than feeling enraged, Blake found the sheer audacity refreshing.

There was only one question on his mind.

“...Why are you angry with me?”

Why was this knight suddenly upset with him? Blake genuinely wanted to know.

The knight, however, answered with a tone that sounded more like nagging.

“I’m not angry. I’m just telling you to get a grip. Stop indulging in these delusions.”

He spoke as if he were delivering advice to a wayward student.

“This isn’t a rebuke for ‘Your Grace the Duke.’ Think of it as counsel from a teacher to a parent who’s utterly failing.”

“...Counsel? For me?”

“Yes, for you. As a father, you’re a disaster.”

“.......”

“Actually, let me revise that. You’re not even a disaster as a father. You’re disqualified. From what I can see, even if you had your wife and child, you wouldn’t have been a good father. You never would’ve trusted them.”

“...You are clearly overstepping your bounds.”

Mentioning his late wife was already enough to test Blake’s patience. Any more and this knight’s life could—

“So why haven’t you conducted a proper investigation? Instead, you’re doubting not just Judea Pierre but even Irene Windler!”

“..........”

Blake’s hand flinched for the first time.

For the first time, Blake Galahad showed visible discomfort, momentarily at a loss for words.

The knight pressed on.

“From earlier, you’ve been calling your ward by her full name, ‘Irene Windler,’ as if you’re distancing yourself from her. Aren’t you doubting your own adopted daughter, not just that red-haired woman? Tell me I’m wrong.”

“...And if I am? What of it?”

Blake didn’t bother to deny it. The truth was, he did suspect Irene.

A suspicion rooted in the uncanny resemblance Irene bore to his late wife. He couldn’t help but wonder if she, like Judea, was some creation of the temple.

From the moment such doubts arose, he began questioning even his adopted daughter.

“It’s a logical suspicion.”

“That’s what we call twisted logic.”

“.......”

A sharp, unyielding rebuttal.

“Because she’s not silver-haired? Or because she’s a mage? You claim it’s all due to her fairy lineage, but isn’t there a way to confirm it? The royal family surely has methods to determine bloodlines. So why haven’t you confirmed anything yet? Ah, perhaps you’re afraid Irene Windler might turn out to be some clone of your wife? Hm, that’s possible, I suppose. But in that case...”

The knight smirked before delivering the final blow.

“If you’re so suspicious of her, why do you keep her by your side?”

“.......”

For once, Blake couldn’t answer.

The man who had never been outmaneuvered in debate, whose wisdom and composure were legendary, was utterly stumped.

“Do you not know why you keep her close? That’s why I said you’re disqualified as a father. You already know the answer—you’re just pretending you don’t.”

“...I already know the answer?”

“Stop asking questions you already know the answers to. Pretending you don’t is starting to irritate me.”

“...I genuinely don’t know. What answer am I supposedly avoiding?”

For the first time in his life, Blake felt like a fool.

The confusion he felt, the tremor in his chest with each of the knight’s remarks, made him feel as though he was on the verge of realizing something he’d been blind to.

“Tell me.” Blake’s voice was tense.

He was desperate for an answer.

To that urgency, the knight replied:

“Are you keeping her close because she resembles your wife? Or because your heart compels you to?”

“-------.”

The answer was strikingly simple, yet it hit Blake like a blow to the back of the head.

It forced him to confront the foolishness of his past—the denial, the lies he told himself, the way he dismissed his feelings as mere delusions of longing.

“Your Grace, you know this. Sometimes, people act on instinct, on impulse, rather than reason. So I’ll ask again—what does your heart tell you about that child?”

“.......”

“If you still don’t get it after I’ve spelled it out, I’ll have to say I’m disappointed. To think the man who once made me feel defeated could be this pathetic.”

“...Hah.”

Blake chuckled faintly.

In that moment, Blake understood.

Why this knight had been so brash, why he’d spoken so fearlessly.

‘...I’ve been lying to myself this entire time.’

The knight was frustrated—not with Blake’s suspicions, but with Blake’s refusal to be honest, even with himself.

Blake had been untruthful to himself, endlessly doubting and dismissing the pull of his heart.

He had dismissed his feelings as illusions born of grief.

“One more thing,” the knight added. “If you truly doubted her, you wouldn’t have drugged her to keep her out of the conversation. You’d have spoken to her directly. But you didn’t. Want to know why?”

“.......”

“You didn’t want her to hate you. That’s all there is to it. If she heard your suspicions, she’d be hurt, and you couldn’t bear that.”

“.......”

“And whether she’s your biological daughter or not, there’s one thing I know for sure: all fathers instinctively fear being hated by their children. And judging by how much you dread that, you already hold her dear.”

“...I...”

“If you don’t want to lose something precious and regret it later, don’t do this. Though, to be fair, humans always seem to regret things only after losing them.”

“...You could’ve left that last part out.”

At that moment, Blake couldn’t help but feel like the knight standing before him was older than himself.

The advice he gave, the way he spoke...